Paul Thompson - Nemesis

Gallan excitedly rattled his sword in its scabbard. "If this is so, our task is half done!"

"There's more," said Furah. "Greven's flying ship lies in ruins atop the Citadel. I myself have seen it there."

Without Predator, the evincar's troops have no long range reconnaissance and no ability to strike at great distances from their base in the Stronghold. There were small outposts stationed here and there on the plain, but without the airship, they would be easy targets for Eladamri's raiders.

Everyone began talking at once. Furah's news changed the Dal and Vec leaders from cautious conspirators to fiery revolutionaries. Some actually wanted to storm the Stronghold at once.

"I want Greven il-Vec's blood," Tant Jova said darkly. "For all the members of my clan who've perished at his hands!"

"Wait! Be still!" Eladamri barked. "No offense to you, honorable Furah, but we must be sure of news of such importance. Gallan, I want confirmation of what the Kor says. Is Volrath gone? Is the airship out of action?"

The young elf nodded. "It shall be done, Eladamri." He immediately sprinted into the night to carry out his orders.

"This changes things," Eladamri said gravely. "We have an opportunity to strike a blow for freedom. In time, a new evincar will be chosen by the overlords-it may be happening even now. Before the enemy can reorganize, we must strike! If the leaders of the free Dal and Vec pledge their support and send warriors to fight with us, I'll take every royal outpost between the Stronghold and the Skyshroud Forest."

Tant Jova whistled through her gapped teeth. "There must be thirty outposts in the territory you describe," she said. "How many warriors would you need to do such a thing?"

"As many as I can get, my friend."

"Where will you attack first?" asked Darsett.

He pondered only a moment. "The block house at Chireef."

"That's within sight of the Stronghold!"

"Yes. Not a likely place for us to attack-so all the better a place to strike."

Darsett and the young Dal fighting men began proposing various battle plans. Eladamri listened with half an ear, then he noticed Furah was no longer present. Damn him, he thought. He wanted to trust the Kor, but their ways were so strange, and they were so close to the Stronghold. Could Furah's news be a ruse to lure them into open battle? Gallan would find out the truth. Until then, they would plan for an attack.

Tant Jova took Eladamri aside. "Your liege Gallan told me your daughter Avila is dead at the hands of a Stronghold assassin. I grieve for a father's loss."

"Thank you. Volrath thought by such means to break me, but this foul murder only hardens my resolve."

Tant Jova's copper-colored face softened. She was very, very old for a Vec. She'd seen many terrible things in her long life, all coming from the Stronghold.

"I'll make a pact with you, O Eladamri," she said. "We shall never submit to the evincar, never cease to fight his forces, and never put down our swords until Greven il-Vec and all his minions have paid the price of justice."

Eladamri grasped her ancient hand. No words were spoken, but even if faced with death, neither would break their solemn bond.

After many hours, the pain had not subsided. His mind flickered in and out, seeking a place to hide from the terror. Solace was brief because his body would not let his mind go.

Tormented by thirst, Ertai crawled across the floor of his cell to the flowstone spigot mounted high on the wall. The warders had teased him, pantomiming that Ertai had to speak to the spigot in order to get water from it. So he crawled from the filthy pallet on which Greven's moggs had thrown him, crawled despite the burns on his legs and chest, and despite the fact that most of his fingers were broken.

"Wa-ah," was as close to the word "water" as he could manage. The spigot could not, or would not, understand him and remained closed. Ertai hated these machines. They were so inelegant and inefficient. Why duplicate the power of magic with crude artifacts? It was an old argument, one he remembered having with Hanna, Barrin's daughter, and Weatherlight's navigator. How he wished he could have an argument with the stubborn, serious Hanna right now.

He yearned for a cool drink. He had to focus past his pain. Ertai called forth memories of water-the clay jar that stood in the corridor, outside the bedroom of his boyhood home, the one with the leaping fish painted on it… the waterfall at Jendary, all thunder and cold mist… the blue ocean around Tolaria, the rich, ever-changing basin on which the magical isle shimmered…

A single cool drop hit his forehead.

Water, water, water! he shouted with his mind. A trickle rewarded his effort but no more. What little liquid fell moistened his parched lips, and he croaked, "Wa-ter."

The spigot opened with a gush. Eagerly, Ertai gulped at the silver stream. It had a hard, mineral taste, but at that moment it was finer than any rare vintage.

"Enough," said a voice. The flow stopped.

He wiped his eyes and discovered he wasn't alone. The green-freckled girl, the emissary, was standing inside the cell door, watching him.

"You'll flood the room," she said, pointing to the spreading puddle on the floor.

Licking his lips, Ertai rasped, "I have nothing to say."

"I didn't ask you anything."

"Oh." He tried to stand, but there was no strength in his limbs. "Forgive me for not standing." He straightened with difficulty. "What do you want?"

"I observed you just now. You opened the valve using magic, didn't you?"

"So?"

"It shows considerable skill for an unaugmented person to have any influence, however small, over flowstone," Belbe said.

"I have considerable skill," Ertai replied with futile dignity.

Belbe came closer and squatted down. Ertai shrank from her until he realized she wasn't there to hurt him. She examined him with keen eyes. He felt a bit like a butterfly in a collector's jar. Her expression was without any feeling but curiosity.

"I want to release you," she said. "Give me your word you won't try to escape, and I'll parole you."

He could hardly believe it. At best he expected a quick execution after telling Greven everything he knew.

"What's to become of me?" he asked.

"I want you to work on developing your ability to influence flowstone."

Ertai let out a short, high-pitched giggle. Then another. A moment later, he dissolved in a fit of coughing when he tried laughing with his broken ribs.

"Water," said Belbe. She held her cupped hands under the spigot. They filled, and she said, "Enough." Kneeling beside the wheezing Ertai, she offered him water from her own hands. With trembling fingers, he guided her hands to his lips.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"If you can control the flowstone," she went on, unaffected, "great things await you."

"Are you offering me a job?" asked Ertai wryly.

Belbe separated her hands. The last drops of water fell to the damp floor. "I'm offering you a chance to become Evincar of Rath."

With Volrath gone, the empty throne lent an air of uncertainty to every activity in the Stronghold. Crovax stepped into this maelstrom of confusion and doubt. Armed with Belbe's commission to strike at the rebels, he threw himself into the task. Troops of the Royal Army were marched out of the Stronghold and mustered on the plain by companies. Battalions of moggs, less disciplined and less intelligent, massed behind the soldiers and awaited their new commander. Crovax disdained the elaborate military ceremonies favored by Volrath and went on foot among his troops, followed by his newly formed personal guard, the Corps of Sergeants.

The one thing missing from this gathering of martial might was Greven il-Vec. Since Crovax did not ask him to join the expedition against Eladamri, the erstwhile commander of all Rathi forces chose not to appear on the plain with the army. He remained in the Citadel, overseeing the extensive repairs being made to Predator,